Chapter 3 Theo
THEO
Every thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing through my body. I’m on my hands and knees, positioned in front of two forces—Elliot behind me, Julian behind him. My hair falls around my face like a curtain, occasionally parting to give me glimpses of the chamber beyond our entangled bodies.
I feel rather than see Julian’s control of the situation.
His rhythm dictates everything—when Elliot drives into me, how deep, how hard.
It’s Julian’s hands on Elliot’s hips that orchestrate our movements, creating a symphony of flesh and desire.
Each time Julian thrusts forward, Elliot is forced deeper inside me, making me gasp at the delicious pressure.
“Fuck,” Elliot moans above me, his voice strained between pleasure and surrender.
But my attention isn’t fully on the men using my body.
My gaze keeps drifting across the chamber to where Victor stands, a mountain of muscle and ink beside a marble column.
His massive arms are crossed over his chest, jaw clenched tight, eyes burning with an intensity that makes my skin heat beyond the friction of our bodies.
I deliberately turn my head to maintain eye contact with him as Elliot slams particularly deep, forcing a groan from my throat. Victor’s fists clench at his sides, the tendons in his forearms standing out in sharp relief.
Julian shifts his angle behind Elliot, driving him forward with enough force that I have to brace myself against the floor. The change pushes Elliot against something inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. I let my head fall back, exposing my throat.
When I look back, Victor’s expression has darkened further. There’s a war happening behind those dark eyes—desire fighting restraint, hunger battling denial. I can practically feel the heat of his gaze on my skin.
I know what he wants. I’ve known since our encounter at Purgatory. The way he fled to the bathroom after our conversation, the flush on his skin when I brushed against him. He wants me, but something is holding him back.
Elliot’s fingers dig into my hips as Julian increases the pace, his thrusts becoming more forceful and possessive. Through the haze of pleasure, I maintain that fragile connection with Victor, acknowledging the tension coiling inside him like a spring wound too tight.
I want him to break. To cross that chamber. To claim what his eyes tell me he’s desperate for.
But he remains frozen, a statue of confliction, as Julian drives Elliot deeper inside me.
It’s hot—unbelievably hot—having Elliot inside me like this, knowing I’m only the second man he’s fucked, after Julian. His inexperienced rhythm betrays him. Julian guides him from behind, teaching without words, showing him how to move, how to take.
But despite the pleasure coursing through me, my attention keeps drifting.
Victor. Fucking Victor.
He thinks he’s being subtle, positioned beside that column like some tattooed guardian of virtue.
He’s been watching Bianca and Knox across the room—at least that’s what he wants everyone to believe.
But I’ve caught his eyes sliding our way repeatedly, lingering on the place where Elliot disappears inside me, then traveling up my spine, across my shoulders, to my face.
His cock gives him away. Half-hard and heavy between those tree-trunk thighs, and as fucking big as I expected, it makes my mouth water. I notice it twitches whenever I make a sound. The darkness in his eyes tells me everything his mouth denies. I know that look. I’ve seen it countless times.
I arch my back deliberately, putting on a show just for him. When Elliot hits that perfect spot inside me, the moan that escapes isn’t entirely for show. Victor’s jaw clenches, a muscle jumping beneath the stubble there. His massive hands form fists at his sides.
I can practically taste his conflict from across the room.
What would it be like to have all that power unleashed? To have those massive hands grasp me instead of curling into frustrated fists? To feel that thick cock—the one he’s trying and failing to hide—stretching me open instead of Elliot’s?
I catch his gaze again and hold it, letting him see the invitation in my eyes. Come here. Stop pretending. Take what you want.
Victor shifts, the movement drawing my attention.
His gaze breaks from mine as he turns away, massive shoulders tense.
He walks deliberately toward the opposite side of the chamber, where a couple is entangled on a chaise lounge.
He positions himself so he can watch them, but I notice his body stays angled, giving him peripheral awareness of what’s happening with us.
A small smile tugs at my lips despite the disappointment curling in my chest. He thinks distance will save him from his desires. He’s wrong.
“Focus, Theo,” Julian’s voice cuts through my distraction, smooth and commanding.
I turn my attention back to the men using my body, letting myself sink into the sensation of Elliot inside me. The pleasure is intense, immediate, but my mind keeps drifting to Victor’s retreat.
It doesn’t matter. Not really. His escape is temporary—a battle won in a war he’s already lost. The way he responded to my words at Purgatory told me everything I needed to know.
Victor Kaine wants me. He can deny it. He can run from it. He can hide behind his supposed heterosexuality and his intimidating physique. But I’ve sparked something he can’t extinguish with willpower alone.
In that primal chase through darkness, inhibitions fall away like autumn leaves. Social constructs mean nothing when basic instincts take control. I’ve seen it happen year after year—people discovering parts of themselves they never acknowledged in the light of day.
Victor will be no different. That carefully constructed identity will crumble when desire takes the wheel. I’ve breached his defenses already—just a crack, but enough. Enough to plant the seed that’s now growing despite his desperate attempts to uproot it.
I moan as Elliot hits that perfect spot again, but my eyes drift to Victor’s broad back across the room. Let him pretend. Let him watch those women and tell himself that’s what he wants.
I know better. And soon, he will too.